


Bitters and Tears

by GlyphArchive



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Assault, Complicated Relationships, Domestic Violence, Emotional Trauma, F/M, Female Friendship, Mythology References, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rewriting Myths, working towards recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlyphArchive/pseuds/GlyphArchive
Summary: The benefit of being a goddess is that she has eternity to experience all life's joys and sorrows, but it does not do well in preparing one for the harsh realities that one living as a mortal can face. Nothing, in this life or the next, might have prepared her for this.
Relationships: Krishna (Hindu Religions & Lore)/Jambavati (Mahabharata), Krishna (Hindu Religions & Lore)/Yamuna (Hindu Religions & Lore)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: Yugantaram 2020





	Bitters and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags. This is not a happy story. If any of the topics I've tagged are triggering or make you uncomfortable, please don't hesitate to click the 'back' button.

“Yamuna!” A voice calls from beyond her riverbank and she knows it well; _would_ know it even if it were not warmly clouded with wine and pleasant exhaustion. She waited, listening for more out of curiosity as her river’s waters continue down the length of the bed she’d chosen for herself. Ganga stopped for no one and neither did she. Not truly. Everyone, from her celestial father the Sun to the youngest child of Manu, knew it to be so.

Seconds trickled by and she debated turning away. The one who called her name is in no danger of drowning. His voice had come from the hill rising gently up into a forest; the most he might have to fear is a wayward bird or chipmunk come down from the trees to marvel at him, since no dangerous animal would choose to roam so close to the _gopis_ favorite spot for enjoying themselves after their work was done. Politeness roots her attention in place however, where for another she might be dismissive. In the short span of this new-strange incarnation she has taken he had been a faithful brother-in-law; _kind_ in his own gruff way that almost reminds her of Chhaya’s own Shani.

Affection could only sway her for so long though, and she grew bored of remaining in one place when there are other sights along her riverside which might be more engrossing.

“You called for me, lord?” She lifted her voice enough that he would be able to hear it from his lounging position on the hill, watching him stir with belated interest in her reply. “What ails you, that you would address me?”

If she was mistaken and Balaram _was_ in fact hurt, then she could do her best to provide assistance. But the easy slump of his shoulders and lack of care in his attempts to right himself all point to willful intoxication; a rarity in a man such as her husband’s brother, but not cause for alarm.

“I wish to bathe!” Balaram called back, standing after some effort. Yamuna balked at his words, though he didn’t seem to notice the rudeness attached to ordering a river to change her course for his pleasure. “Come here and flood the forest!” He added, swinging both arms wide as if to encompass the entire field. “This heat is miserable – I want none of it!”

“Then you should not have drunk yourself to such a state!” Yamuna tells him, the deepest parts of her river gurgling angrily though her voice maintains a veneer of politeness. “If you are heated, come down and bathe! You _can_ walk, lord – there is no stone in your path!”

It was a kinder reprimand than what she’s given to pilgrims and soldiers who have ventured into her depths. Armies lost their horses and supplies at her whim, farmers their crops or even their unattended children. She had never tempered herself for anyone, and he would not demand it of her.

“Yamuna!” A new tone she’d never heard before made his voice harsh and Balaram advanced a step, suddenly determined. If she were closer, she might have been able to read the answering displeasure written across his face. “Come up here! Come up or I’ll drag you myself!”

What affection she’d felt for him evaporated then, drowned by outrage. Her patience had a limit and he’d pushed too far for any excuses.

Yamuna allowed her waters to rise up, threatening the edge of the bank. “You will _not_ , lord, and you will not speak to me in such a tone! Come down, if you want to bathe – else go home and sleep off your stupor!”

Gathering up her waters she turned away from him, burrowing into the familiar dark of the earth and letting her temper churn the sediment as she passed. He was drunk, but that did not excuse his behavior; just as whether Balaram recognized her or not didn’t give him the right to order her about to his whims. She’d address him once he regained his sense and, _sober_ , could properly make amends for himself.

Satisfied with that thought, she plunged onward eagerly; looking to put the incident behind her. Then pain erupted along her side, driving the thought from her head and Yamuna instinctively recoiled from it; dragging her waters along with her as something cold and sharp bit into her body again. This time it pulled her with it, despite her attempts to wrestle away towards freedom. The odor of newly sundered earth filled her senses, roots catching and tugging at her form as she was pulled further from her riverbed, from the current that would have spelled _safety_ if she’d reached it.

The new earth released a sickly sweet perfume as her waters spilled over it, ignorant of her growing panic. Just as the demanding pressure in her side eased off, it returned before she could attempt to scrabble back into her riverbed or sink between the cracks of soil which kept her on the surface. Yamuna felt it snatch the coils of her hair and cried out when the pressure pulled again, dragging her further out onto the field as her river struggled to keep with its course.

“Will you listen to me _now_?” A low voice rumbled above her head, and she could make out through blurry tears that it was Balaram indeed who’d drug her from her bed. His plow held her fast where she lay twisting, seeking escape where there was none. Yamuna shoved at the plowhead, feeling the metal budge just a fraction and tried again with the hope that it would be enough to get herself loose. Balaram grunted, then he angled the plow so that it bit deeper and _heaved_.

Had she been mortal, _truly_ mortal, and in a human’s body it might have killed her. A part of her wished that it would, if it meant that the tearing sensation roaring across her body might stop. She might have cried for someone, _anyone_ if it meant she could be free and safe in her riverbed again.

It had not hurt so much even when Shiva, enraged, had flung himself into her waters to cleanse the venom of desire from his person.

“I surrender!” Yamuna cried, attempting once more to twist away from him and the plow. It caught in her hair once more, bringing with it another wave of pain. “Mercy, please! I surrender!”

The plow lowered and she with it, whether in surprise or acceptance of her plea Yamuna didn’t know. She was let down unceremoniously onto the earth, the shock of it enough for her to rally her focus, to call on the form she’d chosen for this incarnation. Bare feet slipped in the mud created from her uprooting but Yamuna picked herself up nonetheless, ducking her head over shaking palms as she brought them together before her. Low, angry heat still prickled along her scalp, but was nothing compared to the ache in her side. And she wanted nothing more than to be done with this and return home; wherever might take her furthest from Balaram’s presence.

“Speak your wish, lord.” Yamuna schooled her voice into submission with effort, eyes low as tangled bits of hair fell across her cheek. “I will obey. You have my word.”

“Flood the forest.” Balaram repeated, hardly even winded from the struggle she’d presented. He hefted his infamous plow and set it on his shoulder, the tool’s bladed tip glistening still. Nausea spread through her at the sight and Yamuna lowered her gaze once more. “When I am done, you may recede.”

_Would that I could drown you_ she thought, palms pressed tightly together in muted fury. But she nodded instead, the world around her dissolved from its crisp limited shapes as she returned to her main body. It had not recently rained but her waters swelled across the bank nonetheless, breaking over the earth in a swirling tide which buried everything before it. As promised, she filled the field to its brim; nearly threatening the hill that hours ago had been host to laughing _gopis_ and sweet-smelling wine.

It was enough to satisfy him, apparently. Balaram laughed, the sound light and cheerful as he left his plow behind to wade into her waters.

Yamuna recoiled at his first attempt but he didn’t notice, heedlessly diving below the surface with an almost childish glee.

* * *

It was harder to wash the evidence away, Yamuna found; though it only incited her to redouble her efforts. No matter how she dragged a cloth over her skin she could still feel it as though days hadn’t passed. Warmth that was not her own occupying space within her body, the piercing cold in her side that ached and pulled with every movement. Her scalp continued to prickle, and she winced whenever she attempted to draw a comb through her hair.

But it had to be done. She’d rather feel the sting and discomfort over letting phantom sensations sink deeper under her skin, like fish under the surface of her river. No matter how she tried to wring it out, something of the sensation remained and left a jittery uneasiness pulling at her nerves. She’d avoided leaving her rooms for that reason, too ill-at-ease to trust in her own ability not to jump or snap at someone’s word. She would be fine, Yamuna insisted to herself. She _would_ , it would just take a little time.

A soft knock drew her attention to the other room and Yamuna froze, plait forgotten over her shoulder as she listened. There was no clink of jewelry, none of the perfumes she’d come to associate with her fellow wives or their myriad relatives. She drew herself up cautiously, ears straining to catch any further sound.

Outside, Dwarka went about its daily life while bathed in sunshine. In her own chambers Yamuna only felt cold. Afraid, and unfamiliar enough with the feeling that it rattled her further.

“Who is there?” She called, unaware of her hands twisting over the folds of her sari. _Let it be no one_ , the startled darkness of her own mind pleaded. _Let me have imagined it._

“Only me.” Her husband’s quiet voice answered gently. He hadn’t stepped over the threshold separating the bath from her room and for that, Yamuna was grateful. “May I enter?”

She hesitated, glancing around herself as unease continued to nip at her senses. There was nothing out of the ordinary that could hold her attention, but the thought of having another with her in such close quarters made the knot in her stomach twist harder.

“No.” Yamuna answered at last, willing her voice to be steady. “I would like to keep this privacy to myself, swami. We may speak like this, if there is something you need from me.” She realized that her hands continued to fidget and forced them to close, nails scraping the softness of her palms.

“ _Did_ you need something from me?” She asked, shifting her weight.

Silk rustled in response - perhaps he was moving about as well? Restless, or discomfited? Had he taken her want for privacy and distance as an insult?

“Perhaps it would be too much to refer to it as a _need_.” Krishna finally spoke, his voice no closer than it had been before. But he sounded pensive and that was enough to slightly pique her curiosity.

“But you are _here_ , swami, when you could be elsewhere.” She hadn’t intended for the words to come across as bitter, but there was something of it in her statement regardless. “Is the council not meeting today? Or have you already finished your duties this afternoon?”

A soft sound answered her, a tiny chuckle that she had come to know and find endearing in the handful of years they’d been married.

“You can say it, priye. You wouldn’t be wrong to ask.” Krishna teased gently. “Did I abandon my meetings and decide to make mischief instead? Not today, at least. We concluded early this morning, which was fortunate. But I came because it’s been three days since we’ve seen you. I’ve been worried, but you would not let even Rukmini past your doorstep.”

Yamuna looked away even though he couldn’t see her, mouth twisting into a frown. Rukmini meant well - and she had never spoken rudely to any of her fellow wives that Yamuna was aware of. The opposite, really.

But there was sure to be questions if one were to see the scar running across her side, where there hadn’t been one days ago. She dreaded that more than anything else - the concern that would inevitably come and the possibility of having recount what had happened.

“I am sorry.” Yamuna said at last, hands loosening enough to toy with her braid instead. “It was not my intention to worry anyone. Please let didi know that I am well, just…” And how was she supposed to explain it? Could she lie, and that truly be the end of it?

_May your child be fickle_ , an echo of her father’s curse to her mother flitted through her mind then. Though she’d never heard the exchange herself, Yamuna imagined it to be full of contempt. It had to have been for Mata Saranyu to flinch so at any mention of the event.

Was she not fulfilling that curse by wanting to lie, rather than tell the truth?

Krishna waited patiently for her to finish, and the silence oddly wasn’t damning at all.

“I wished to be alone for a time.” She told him quietly, frowning deeper as she said it. That at least was not a lie, and she did not have to wonder if he would believe her if she left the statement as it was.

Would he even trust her word at all if she _did_ tell him?

“I will tell her that if you wish.” Krishna began slowly, a thread of concern now clearly lining his voice. He paused and Yamuna partly wanted to believe that might be the end of it.

“But _are_ you alright? Truly?”

_No_ , she nearly answered. _But I will find a way to be. Isn’t a goddess supposed to be above and beyond such things?_

“Priye?” Krishna asked, and it was no longer just concern in his voice but actual worry.

“Give me time.” Yamuna heard herself say without meaning to, an edge creeping into her voice. The sound of it made her wince but she steeled herself against it and raised her chin even though he couldn’t see. “I appreciate your concern, swami. But give me time. That is all I ask.”

It did not take him even a second to consider the request.

“Take all the time you need, my dear.” Warmth softened his voice and she could picture the look on his face as he said it. “When you are ready, we will all be here for you.”

“Thank you.” Yamuna replied, meaning it even though she was also glad to hear him leave.

* * *

“I was surprised when you sent for me.” Jambavati’s heavy lidded eyes scanned the room before settling on Yamuna herself. Her face softened and Yamuna wondered what she saw that could make her usual impassive features shift so. “Though now I can say that it hardly matters. You reached out and I am here. What can I do for you then?”

Yamuna found it in herself to chuckle at Jambavati’s frankness rather than be offended by it. After having Yama and Shani as her brothers, it wasn’t difficult.

“And here I thought you were beyond surprises.” Yamuna pointed out with a smile, standing so that she could reach out and clasp her co-wife’s hands. Jambavati allowed it, the ghost of a smile darting across her face as she lightly squeezed Yamuna’s fingers between her own.

“Never.” Jambavati answered. “I’m surprised by something every day, if you can believe it. Mostly that humans bother to be up early at all, when the rest of the world waits until later to follow after.”

They parted and Yamuna offered her a seat, joining her once Jambavati was settled.

“Have you recovered?” Jambavati asked, studying her thoughtfully. “I would have come sooner, had you needed it. But it seemed as though you weren’t sure yourself and wanted privacy, so I didn’t.”

Yamuna refused to let herself fidget, even though the word _recovered_ sent an uneasy twitch through her muscles. Her side ached, it was true. If she moved too fast then it would twinge and remind her not to be so foolish. She’d hoped the mark from Balaram’s plow would fade quickly, given that she had always recovered faster than anyone else besides her siblings and her husband. A scar persisted despite her best efforts, a slash of discoloration that gave her away if she wasn’t careful about hiding it.

Truth be told, the thought of trying to hide it for the rest of her foreseeable future was already exhausting.

“I’m trying.” Yamuna answered, curious as to how much Jambavati knew or if her question had been meant out of general concern. “Though I can’t say how successful I might be. It is difficult to judge without bias.”

“It is.” Jambavati agreed. “But you’re willing to admit there is a problem, so that is progress.”

“Perhaps.” It certainly didn’t feel like progress, much of the time. “If I asked for your help regarding this, would you be willing to agree?”

Jambavati’s lips pursed as she considered the question. Then she shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We’re family. Something’s clearly causing you trouble. If I can help, then I will.”

“Even if the issue involved one who is also family?” Yamuna asked. “Would that be a problem?”

To her surprise Jambavati smiled, bright and wide.

“You forget that I am a bear before I am a human woman. We settle differences between family all the time, though it is rarely as nice as what humans do. You have my support, even if your reason for fear involved our own husband or our children.”

Gratitude spread through Yamuna’s chest like a wave, loosening some of the tension from her shoulders. She almost felt giddy with it.

“Not our husband.” She corrected, observing the flicker of interest that crossed Jambavati’s features. “And not our children, I’m relieved to say. But he is close to both, and I have not been certain that anyone might listen if I spoke against him.”

“Who?” Jambavati asked, her eyes darkening. “If they’ve caused you distress, then they should answer for it. If they’ve caused you pain, then I will make them pay.”

_Perhaps it would be so easy_ , Yamuna thought. But her sister had offered steadfast support, and that alone meant the world.

“Balaram.” Saying his name drew Yamuna’s mouth into a frown and a shiver across her back. “Two weeks ago now. He’d enjoyed an afternoon of drinking… and left his sense behind. He demanded that my river flood the field so that he might bathe. When I…” Yamuna hesitated, throat tightening. It took a moment, but she pushed herself to swallow past it. “When I refused and bade him farewell, he attacked me with his plow. I still have the mark, despite my attempts at treating the wound. I haven’t left because I know he will be in the city - and I can’t be sure how I might react. What I might _do_.”

“You would be in your right to seek retribution.” Jambavati’s lips pulled back slightly, showing teeth. “Brother or not, he _wronged_ you. It’s something he has to answer for and the bare minimum of what you deserve.”

“Were he anyone else it would have been his remains washing ashore.” Yamuna admitted darkly, hands balling up in her lap. “I’d sworn no man would ever inflict on me what had been done to my mother or her twin; let alone what mortal women fear each day of their lives. But against an avatar of _Shesha_? I stand no chance. My sister Bhadra might, for the _halahala_ which emerges from her skin and breath. But I only have my word and the mark he left on me; when he is beloved by all that look on him.”

Jambavati’s scowl said enough, though she looked more enraged on Yamuna’s behalf than anything else.

“Does it hurt?” She asked after a moment’s pause. Her voice was calm, though Yamuna heard the lurking anger under it.

“Not if I’m careful.” Yamuna answered, relaxing slowly. “It was worse in the beginning, truth be told. Now there’s just a scar left, and that will fade with time I hope.”

“It should.” Jambavati mused, studying her again. “But you will have to tell our husband what his brother has done. If this were just between bears I would kill him.” She added ruefully. “But humans prefer their systems of justice.”

Yamuna allowed herself a chuckle at that. “They do. Though I’ve wondered if our husband would truly listen to me, since he loves his brother so.”

“He’ll listen.” Jambavati assured. “Believe me, he will.”

“But would he _believe_ me?” The words slipped out before Yamuna could think to stop them. Hearing them alone was enough to drain the warmth from her body. “Or would he say that it was my own fault? That I should have held my tongue and been obedient?”

The thought sent a spark of panic through her and she shuddered unconsciously, nails digging into her palms.

“Men are fond of berating their wives.” Yamuna wrapped her arms around herself, feeling sick. “I’ve seen it often enough as a river. As the person that I am now. They trust so little of what a woman might say and are quick to act with violence if we are perceived as being disobedient. And it was his _brother_ , didi. His _brother_. Men have killed their wives for less than raising their voices. If I tell him and he does not believe me - “

Jambavati’s warm hand squeezed her shoulder and Yamuna flinched, not expecting the contact.

“He _will_ listen.” Jambavati assured in a low voice, drawing her hand back obligingly. “And if he does not believe you on your testimony alone, then we must _prove_ it to him. _I_ believe you.” She added, leaning a little bit closer to make sure she had Yamuna’s attention. “And I believe that our sisters would take your word seriously as well. You said so yourself that you have the scar. It is grounds enough for _anyone_ to consider this important. Even if he does not believe that it was Balaram at first, there is no way our husband can deny that you have been wronged. You will have to tell him yourself.” Jambavati admitted. “But you will not be alone in doing so. I will stay at your side and add my word to yours.”

Despite the offer of support all Yamuna could feel was a watery sickness throughout her body, compounded by the taste of bile at the back of her throat. Had she been asked to stand right then she wasn’t sure she could have done it without falling.

“And if he still does not believe us?” She murmured. “What then?”

Jambavati growled, low and sonorous. “Then I’ll throw _both_ of them into the sea for being fools and you can live with me instead. I don’t allow anyone within my home without my permission, including our husband. Balaram has never set foot there and _never_ will unless I agree to it.”

In a softer voice she continued, “You can stay until you are ready to join Dwarka again. But first you must speak about this with our husband, if you are to heal at all.”  
“...thank you.” Yamuna said at last, still not quite able to look at her. “I… I will try.”

“You won’t be alone.” Jambavati promised, easing back in her seat. “I’ll be here until you don’t need me any longer.”

* * *

“You asked for me, priye?” Krishna paused at the room’s threshold, glancing between Yamuna and Jambavati almost uncertainly. The air of the room felt tense and uncomfortable, something that reflected on the faces of his wives for a moment. Yamuna beckoned for him to enter, restraining the impulse to swallow as he did. Jambavati sat up, fixing their husband with a cool stare.

“We did, swami. You’ll want to take a seat.” Jambavati did not smile, waiting until Krishna sat across from them to continue. “It has been two weeks since my sister has joined us in the city or at court. Would you be willing to hear why, and listen to her grievances?”

Yamuna said nothing as Krishna looked at her with faint confusion, willing her expression to remain neutral. His brows drew together in a little furrow as he considered her silence, the corners of his mouth turning slightly downwards before he nodded.

“I am always willing to listen if there is something that has upset you.” He said gently, glancing between them once more. “If you are ready to speak about it, I’m here.”

Jambavati made a satisfied sound low in her throat, turning her head to fix Yamuna with a confident look. An unspoken conversation passed between them that made unease stir in Krishna’s stomach, but he did not remark on it. Yamuna gathered herself slowly, squaring her shoulders as she faced Krishna’s patient expression. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something before she lowered her gaze. She frowned, shrinking in on herself slightly as though she wished to hide from his stare. Concern flooded him then, but Krishna restrained himself from speaking just yet so that Yamuna could speak first.

Finally she looked up, a fragile confidence revealing itself as her shoulders briefly straightened.

“I am sorry for bringing you and our family worry.” Yamuna began, meaning every word despite the hesitance in her voice. “But I’m grateful you gave me space when I asked for it.” And she was, more than words alone could say.

Krishna nodded, waiting for her to continue. Yamuna looked away for a moment, finding it easier to study his hands than continue making eye contact. Jambavati’s hand moved, slowly reaching out to brush warm fingers over her arm. This time Yamuna managed not to flinch, though the contact still made her stomach drop.

“Two weeks ago your brother called upon me after a day of revelry with the _gopis_.” Yamuna said at last, tone drained of any feeling. She did not lift her gaze, now staring hard at the floor. “He was drunk, and tired of the day’s heat. Balaram called to me while I was within my river and demanded that I flood the field so that he might bathe.”

She hesitated, worrying the pad of her thumb over her knuckles. The memory made her sick to think on and she felt that watery sort of weakness begin to spread throughout her body once more. “I denied him... and said that he could venture down into the water himself. When he heard that, he demanded again that I obey and flood the field. I denied him a second time and attempted to take my leave. When I did…”

Bile rose up in her throat as her stomach churned. She pursed her lips against it, squeezing her hands together so that they wouldn’t shake. Jambavati squeezed her arm once, providing silent support. If not for that and the fact she had already come this far, she might have been tempted to flee the room.

“When I tried to leave Balaram struck me with his plow.” Yamuna looked up, meeting Krishna’s stare as she pushed herself to continue. Anger curled within her belly, surprising her even as it helped sharpen her voice. “It was not once, but _twice_. And when I attempted to free myself from the plow he dragged me further from the riverbed and hung me aloft by my hair.”

Her body shuddered at the memory and Jambavati squeezed her arm again, offering strength. Dimly, Yamuna registered that Krishna looked as though he’d been struck himself; his eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he listened to her testimony.

_Will you believe me?_ She wondered desperately. _Is my word alone enough to make you believe or will you say that I was in the wrong? That I should have been silent, should have cooperated with his wish?_

“To make him stop I agreed to do as he bid and Balaram released me.” Yamuna continued slowly, voice thick with mixed emotion. Anger yes, plenty of it. But dredging up the memory had also brought back its fear and she felt it now as she had then. Yamuna hesitated, drawing in a breath. “There is a scar on my side now, which is the reason behind keeping to my quarters these past weeks. I was not sure if it might fade as it should... and I feared meeting your brother again. That he may remember the deed or worse, that he would not recollect it at all and expect us to still be friends.”

Moisture swam across her sight and obscured her husband’s face, preventing her from seeing Krishna’s reaction to her words. Yamuna blinked and the world ceased to swim blurrily around her, but the tears ran down her face despite her belated attempt to stop them.

“I cannot say for myself if he might remember his actions that afternoon. But I did not want to face him alone, and I could not trust myself not to retaliate in some way. Hold it against me if you must, swami, but I… I couldn’t face that possibility.“

Krishna said nothing at first, stunned and unmoving in his seat. When Yamuna looked at him, half in fear of his reaction, it seemed as though he’d drifted off into some inner world. His eyes were glassy but there was no recognition on his face to show he’d processed her words. 

Jambavati shifted restlessly, glancing at her with concern before speaking. “I’ve seen the scar myself, swami. My sister does not lie. It is true that bhaiyaa Balaram returned home in markedly cheerful spirits after he left, which one could argue suggests that he does not recall this event. Be that as it may, your wife is _hurting_. She _wouldn’t_ lie about something like this.”

Her words seemed to bring Krishna back from within himself. He blinked, swallowing as he shifted in his seat. Yamuna studied him uncertainly, more than a little afraid this would be the moment she had dreaded.

_Are you going to call me a liar? To chastise me, or insist that I take it back?_ She wondered as he remained silent. _I was there. I saw it and I lived it but if you were to punish me for telling the truth I…_

She would be _sick_ , Yamuna knew. Too sick to her stomach to consider moving and it would _hurt_ to consider that possible reality. The longer Krishna was silent the more she began to fear that he would do just that. It sparked a wave of panic to flood her system, one that Jambavati’s hand on her arm no longer provided her a secure anchor against. Her own heart beat too loudly within her ears and nausea threatened to overcome her as they waited.

Finally, Krishna stirred. He looked at her slowly, concern and more than a little pain clouding his expression.

“You did no wrong.” He said in a low voice, somber in a manner she had rarely seen outside a handful of meetings with Dwarka’s council. Yamuna blinked, surprised enough that she forgot about the pounding in her chest. Krishna rose slowly, crossing the short distance between them a careful step at a time before kneeling at her feet. Yamuna recoiled, folding herself back into the support of her chair reflexively. Krishna hesitated, one of his hands outstretched to reach for her own before he slowly lowered it. She flinched at the hurt in his expression and tried to curl in on herself to create distance between them.

“Yamuna.” He said her name gently, as softly as he had ever spoken to any of their children. “Priye, I meant it when I said you did no wrong. You have no reason to be afraid.”

_That is easy for you to say, swami._ The stung and rebellious part of her protested. _You are a man. No one can raise a hand against you and go without being punished._

“I didn’t think you would believe me.” She admitted after a moment, swallowing. Krishna winced, mouth drawing into a frown before he smoothed it away. Yamuna nearly apologized, but the words crowded her tongue and refused to let her speak. Her thoughts rushed past her and added to the knot in her throat, tangling until she could make no sense of them.

_I’m sorry. I’m not sorry. I’m afraid of what you might do. I am afraid of you, now, almost as much as I am afraid of your brother._

Jambavati drummed her fingers along her knee, speaking up where Yamuna herself couldn’t just yet. “To be fair, you _do_ adore him greatly, swami. It would be hard to fault anyone for thinking you might disregard their word simply on the merit that you are so close to Balaram and he to you.”

“I would not.” Krishna insisted quietly, reluctantly turning his head to look at her. Yamuna felt a surge of gratitude towards her sister for taking his attention away right then. “Even though he is my bhaiyaa, I would not take his word above that of my wives.”

“Then you _agree_ that he needs to answer for his crime?” Jambavati asked coolly, a dangerous gleam dancing in her eyes.

Yamuna waited, searching Krishna’s face for a reaction. He made no attempt to hide his own anger, burning just beneath the concern he directed at her with a glance. It broke through his attempts at calm like the occasional flash of lightning among darkened clouds, but he restrained himself.

“I do agree.” Krishna replied darkly, though the admission seemed to cause him a degree of pain. “No man should place hands on a woman against her will, _least_ of all in anger. Least of all my brother. However,” he paused and turned his head to look at Yamuna, the storm within his stare abating for a second. “Would you be willing to face him, Kalindi?”

A chill spread across her spine as she considered it, the warmth she had previously felt bleeding away into fear and nausea once more.

“No.” She managed carefully, distantly aware that she had unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself. “I do not think I could be in the same room as him. Not yet.”

“No one thinks any less of you for it.” Jambavati reminded her softly, comfortingly warm and solid at Yamuna’s side. “Believe in _that_ , because it’s true. But you _should_ have a say in how he is punished for his crimes. It was you that he harmed. It’s your right to speak up.”

Krishna nodded, his gaze pensive as he met Yamuna’s questioning glance. He did not look happy by any stretch, but none of his displeasure seemed focused upon _her_. “Whatever you decide, priye, I will support you. You have my word.”

“I will hold you to it.” Yamuna warned him quietly, the kernel of anger that had given her enough strength to continue this discussion briefly flickering once more. It wasn’t enough to coax her into relaxing, let alone provide any sort of comfort. But he’d promised, and what parts of her mind that didn’t thrum with fear insisted that she make good use of it. “Keep that in mind.”

“I know.” Something flashed and settled in his expression, there and gone before it could be deciphered. But he only met her stare patiently, waiting for her to speak. “I will listen and it shall be done.”

Yamuna nodded slowly, rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm them against the chill of her own nerves. It would have to do for now, until she could be alone in her own chambers again.

She longed for that more than she did any sort of peace, at the moment.

* * *

“You might have called me out to the garden if you wanted to speak privately.” Balaram teased mildly, glancing up at Krishna before slowly frowning. His brother did not smile at the jest, nor did he even turn to look at Balaram at all as the silence grew between them. When he finally turned Balaram could see that Krishna’s expression was hard and his eyes were cold. It was a startling sight when he’d also grown so used to his brother’s easy-going smiles.

“Kanha? Has something happened?”

Krishna didn’t answer at first, pushing himself up to stand from the window seat and coming to stand within arm’s reach of him.

“Kanha?” Concern pushed away whatever remaining levity had clung to his mood and Balaram frowned. “What is it?”

Something returned to his brother’s eyes and seemed to coax the rest of him back to life. Krishna’s shoulders lost some of their tension, but none of his usual warmth emerged to fill the empty statuesque blankness in his gaze.

“Two weeks ago you were paying a visit to the fields of our boyhood, bhaiyaa.” Krishna began. “Do you recall it?”

Balaram blinked in surprise, considering the question before answering. “Yes. It was in time for the harvest. We finished clearing the fields and had time to celebrate. Some of the _gopis_ returned home instead, but the rest gathered on the forest edge to have their wine. I joined them, and was the last to leave.”

Confusion replaced his concern for a moment and Balaram studied his brother’s face more intently. “Why? Has something happened? One of our cousins, perhaps? Has Shishupal made a fool of himself again?”

“No.” Krishna’s expression did not soften, unnaturally remote. “It is not Shishupal I am asking about. Do you remember what happened after, bhaiyaa? Concentrate, if you would. It is very important.”

Irritation prickled across Balaram’s neck and he couldn’t help but ask, “Is this an _interrogation_ , Kanha? You’re rarely this unkind, unless someone has done something to earn it. If you tell me what’s going on I can - “

“Answer my question, please.” Krishna cut him off. “ _That_ is what I am asking.”

“I drank.” Balaram quipped back, narrowing his eyes. “ _Too much_ , admittedly. But it was a time for celebration, and it had been a boiling day in the fields. I drank and eventually got tired when everyone went home. What else would you have me say?”

“Did you think, perhaps, to have a swim in the river?” Krishna asked, brows subtly lifting. “You despise the autumn heat every year, I recall that.”

Balaram shrugged, his frown morphing into a scowl. “Perhaps. It was a long day. Are you going to chide me for swimming after a day’s work, Kanha?”

“Think about it.” Krishna brushed his remark aside without batting an eye. “Try and recall. Did you go down to the river, bhaiyaa? Did you go down on your own or did you try and bring it up to you instead?”

Something about the tone Krishna used sent a bolt of uneasiness through Balaram’s frame, coiling into a heavy knot in his stomach.

“What does it matter, Krishna?” He asked, ignoring the flicker of irritation that darted across his brother’s face. “I might have - I might have not. It was _weeks_ ago.”

“For you.” Krishna mused, implacable as he continued. “But think about it, if you would. It is important that you _try_. Will you do that, Balabhadra?”

The use of another of his names furthered the sense of unease turning Balaram’s stomach. He withheld a sigh, searching his memory rather than snap back at Krishna. It was tempting, but Balaram suspected he wouldn’t get any straight answers out of his brother unless he tried to answer Kanha’s query.

Fragments of a memory stirred just outside his mind’s reach, heated and uncomfortable. He’d tried to forget it for one reason or another, perhaps. The drink had helped with that Balaram supposed, even as he pursued the jagged recollection determinedly. Silence stretched out between them as he dug through faint impressions of fatigue and levity, wondering exactly what it was that Krishna sought from this.

“I wanted to bathe and cool down.” Balaram began slowly, looking past Krishna as he thought. “Going down the hill seemed too great a task, but I did not want to pass the night a sweaty mess.”

Krishna said nothing, only nodding to show he was listening.

“I… remember standing. I believe that I called to the river, asking her to flood the field enough for me to bathe without having to move far. She rebuked me.” Balaram continued, brows drawing together as he considered this. Uneasiness began to border on nausea underneath his confusion at this situation. Whatever the answer was, his instincts warned him that he would not like it in the least. It was a puzzling reaction, considering that not much in the world made him so uncomfortable.

“Yamuna.” Krishna supplied for him in a toneless voice, watching him closely. “And when she rebuked you, what did you do then?”

_I don’t know. I don’t want think about it,_ Balaram’s mind urged him to say. _Do not ask me these things. What does it matter now?_

But it was Kanha who asked, and Kanha who would not let him go until he answered; so Balaram searched his mind again and strained to remember. It was worse than trying to wade through mud during a rainstorm - his mind did not wish to cooperate. He recalled that he’d drunk a generous amount of wine that day, and now wondered if he’d overdone it more than originally suspected.

“I... grew angry.” He answered with a sinking feeling, abruptly wishing that it could have been a lie as the impression of wrath flickered across his senses. “The air felt like sticky honey and I wanted it gone. To cool down. I… I called out to her again and…” He frowned, digging further into the memory. “She rebuked me once more.”

“And?” Had Krishna’s voice ever grown so sharp with him before? Balaram couldn’t remember.

He swallowed, frustrated with himself. Details slipped between his fingers like water when he attempted to grasp them. The urge to remain silent nearly outweighed the compulsion to answer. But there was no pity in Krishna’s eyes and this was the first time his brother had ever looked at him like he was an enemy.

Perhaps it was that, or his own mounting irritation that sparked another fragment of memory to emerge.

“I took up my plow.” Balaram answered, both confused and unsatisfied with this answer. He paused, brows drawing together as something else came along with this new piece of information. Fury, he remembered now, and the feeling of swinging his plow at -

Balaram felt his face go slack and the tension bleed from his frame, a hollowness opening up where his previous ire had been. Shame crept along after it and his jaw worked for a moment before he could find it in himself to speak.

“...I dragged the river to me to force her compliance.” He said weakly, wishing for a moment that the earth would swallow him whole.

He’d deserve it now if Krishna struck him, Balaram thought. He deserved much worse.

“You struck my wife _twice_.” Krishna affirmed instead, pitiless and cold. “And dragged her from the riverbed by her side, and then held her aloft by her _hair_ with your plow.”

Nausea burned at the back of his throat and Balaram closed his eyes tightly as if doing so might block this revelation out. He could see it now, behind the darkness of closed lids. _Feel_ it even, the savage glee in getting what he wanted at the time and the disregard at Yamuna’s pain so long as the damnable heat went away.

“I did.” Balaram croaked softly, opening his eyes blearily. “I did. _Forgive me_ , Kanha, I didn’t - “

“No.” Krishna cut him off again. That one word contained too much feeling, pressing against the space around them until it seemed like the room should crumble from his anger alone. Balaram tried to suck in a breath and failed, dimly aware that the world seemed to swim around him.

_This is exactly what I didn’t want,_ an old and deeply buried part of Balaram thought distantly. _This is why I asked you to only let me pray and be as stone in your service._

“I do not forgive you, bhaiyaa.” Krishna continued slowly, his voice trembling only once. “That is not my place. It is Yamuna’s, whenever she might feel inclined and comfortable to do so.”

“I understand.” Balaram replied woodenly, emptiness sweeping through him in place of anything else. “You will be punishing me in her stead, then? I accept it, whatever it is.” Even though there was nothing that could be done to make up for what he’d done. He’d _struck_ a woman. His own _sister-in-law_ , no less. And he’d forgotten it, gone about his life as normal like it had never happened.

Something darted behind Krishna’s eyes, beneath the anger. Balaram might have called it pain, had his brother not steeled himself immediately afterwards.

“You are to leave Dwarka for two years.” Krishna announced coolly, gathering himself up and reverting back to the statue that had greeted Balaram initially. “One year for each blow, to wander alone to perform your penances and speak to no one; so that you can remember what power your words alone have. At the end of the second year you may return, but you must pray at Yamuna’s waters and ask her forgiveness. If she grants it, then we may all consider the matter settled.”

_Far too kind_ , some part of Balaram lamented.

“I understand.” He repeated, pushing back the leaden weight filling his shoulders and arms with effort. His mind still reeled, caught up in rushing shock and bitter shame. But he’d given his word and Balaram intended to honor it. “Grant me the rest of the day to prepare and I will be gone in the morning. The council will need to know and… you will have to look after the Narayani Sena in my stead.”

For a moment he thought Krishna might refuse, and technically Balaram knew that he would have the right to do so. But instead his brother surprised him.

“Granted.” Kanha’s voice softened at last, anger and authority replaced with disappointment.

It cut him more deeply than anything else could hope to.

“Spend the evening as you like. My gift to you, bhaiyaa, and mine alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be an exploration of the myth involving Balarama rerouting the river Yamuna and that event's aftermath. In some sources Yamuna is mentioned as being one of Krishna's wives and is referred to as Kalindi when mentioned. Yamuna herself is the eldest daughter of Surya and his first wife Sangya/Saranyu. The myth referenced here is usually celebrated as a tale of Balarama's powers as a god... but honestly it's also a story about the assault of a goddess. I did my best not to sugar coat anything and drew from some personal experience to make this more realistic, with the help of my spouse.
> 
> I also sprinkled in references to other myths, such as Surya cursing Saranyu when she blinked/turned her face away from him and he cursed her unborn children Yama and Yamuna each time that she did. Yama is cursed to be "darkness itself" and Yamuna is cursed to be "fickle in temperament/fickle in nature". While I mean no disrespect to any of the myths or characters themselves, on a personal level I have trouble picturing that as making for a good or happy home life. And I do imagine that it affected Yamuna's early years before she took her place on the earth as a river.
> 
> There is reference to the theory that Balarama is an avatar of Shesha, and I've added that towards the middle-end in both Yamuna's fears of being able to hold her own against him and in Balarama's deep regret at having caused violence; especially against a woman. The stories regarding Shesha that I'm aware of address him as being repulsed by the violent nature of his kin, and the violence that he himself is capable of - hence why he takes up his prayers and meditation until Brahma (or Vishnu) appears and offers him a boon. Shesha asks only that he be allowed to continue his penances and to become as stone so that he can't give in to that violent nature, and I wanted to reflect some of the conflict that Balarama's actions here in the myth cause with that wish. That and just about every mention I've found of Balarama himself points to him respecting women considerably - so it didn't seem too much of a stretch that he'd be ashamed of having brought a woman harm.
> 
> About the mentions of Yamuna's incarnation. Despite my best attempts I haven't been able to locate many stories about the goddess herself beyond the tale of Yama's death and rise as the king of Yamaloka/Naraka (depending on sources). She is both the river Yamuna and a goddess of life, and there are disagreements on whether she is one of Krishna's wives or if "Kalindi" might be another person entirely and Yamuna happens to share the same name. For this piece I've gone with the tale that Yamuna did penances to become one of Vishnu's wives and incarnated as a human woman, but is still fully aware of and has access to her divinity; something that is seen often in Hindu myths. Given that there is so little written about her, I struggled at first to write her personality. Then it occurred to me that deities likely aren't used to the mundane drudgery of human life, and that a goddess who spent much of her time as a river might be at first distantly fascinated, then perhaps amusedly accepting of the limitations imposed on mortals.
> 
> I've done my best to write Yamuna as a fully divine being experiencing for the first time the terrors which can happen to mortals, particularly mortal women. In no way is her assault meant to be taken as funny or "humbling". She is a woman who was minding her own business, and was forced to do something she did not want to do because another person, in this case a man in a position of power and authority, demanded it. This is also supposed to provide her the chance at processing what happened to her, to seek support, and (hopefully) eventually recovery from her trauma.
> 
> By no means am I trying to paint Balarama as a complete villain. I'm very fond of him, but I couldn't in good conscience try and pretend that he didn't seriously hurt Yamuna herself in this myth/retelling. If I've offended anyone or at any point come off as too callous in handling these topics, I sincerely apologize. That was never my intention.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story. Thank you for reading.


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